


Wanderlust

by space_mermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Capitalism, F/M, Found Family, Identity, Other, POV Second Person, Queer Relationship, Spiritual, Struggle, Tragedy, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27161191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_mermaid/pseuds/space_mermaid
Summary: "The wide expansive places fill your lungs with liberation. Your soul dissipates to fill the infinite container, and you feel the earth steady beneath you, the clouds gliding above you, the ocean stretching around you. Infinite. Land, sea and sky are your Trinity." Trans nonbinary!Pansy.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	Wanderlust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Emma as part of the Gift Giving Extravaganza 2017 on ff.net

There is a freedom to being untethered. Roots poisoned, you cut yourself off at the ankles, claw yourself clear with soft hands, trailing blood from your feet. 

The wide expansive places fill your lungs with liberation. Your soul dissipates to fill the infinite container, and you feel the earth steady beneath you, the clouds gliding above you, the ocean stretching around you. Infinite. Land, sea and sky are your Trinity. 

The crowded places, built and blackened with tire rubber, settled exhaust fumes, the smudge of constant contact, make you vibrate. The web of threads amongst thousands and thousands tangle atop traffic lights, twist around street corners, trail under buses. They twirl around your limbs and the tremors buzz under your skin. Its own kind of infinite. 

You are your own. 

For an escapee, proximity to a person planted, content in connection, unsettles you. Entwined lives, pulling on each other, duty, expectation, warmth, habit, all patterned, and painted proudly. You watch from behind glass eyes. 

He is a pause, a place to rest. Encompassing infinity fatigues your flesh. 

Shallow pools of encounter have reflected only what you already felt yourself to be. With flings, you have reinscribed your faith in weightlessness. In floating along unnamed rivers, the soil of place washed away. Belonging to no one and nowhere. 

With him, you have found a new embodiment of authenticity. With repetition, chemistry becomes intimacy. To be seen is almost as freeing as being invisible. 

Hands on your skin. You fall back into your body. The weight of his chest, pressing yours flat against your ribs. You are in your bones. Hair on his neck standing on end as you growl against his ear. Underneath you, he unfurls. You feel every millimetre that you sink into him. Your soul fills a container made of pumping blood, vascular skin, aching muscle, and it shines out from his brown eyes. You are received as you have yearned to be received. And you know what it is to be felt. 

Transience tugs against transcendence. Stay, he wants you to stay. He says he loves you, wants you. 

The more he talks, the more uneasily your tongue rests in your mouth. Warring between lashing out, cutting him off, and tying promises like weights around your wrists. 

Which of your selves will you honour? It cannot be both. 

Fluid down to your cells, like grains of sand watering though fingers. 

You say you don't know. Don't know what you want, what you will want. You can stay for now but not forever, not for definite. 

His face falls, blush of anger flooding freckled cheeks. Wringing bony fingers through fiery hair, long legs pacing the small bedroom in two strides and back again. You leave, angry calls washing against your back, muddying your cool exterior. What is a man worth for one who has breathed infinity? 

But the truth dredged up from the depths you swam with him is that you too are only mortal. The lines of your body are drawn. The wind is cold on your skin. Your gods speak in movements unreadable, in leaves falling dead in autumn, scum swirls stagnant on the pond. 

Contemporaneously, your well dries up. The privilege of drifting is no longer one you can afford. You must plant yourself in the concrete. The deadening grind of hours wasted, daylight fading out of sight, the clink and swipe of filthy transfer, suffocating. And you are viewed but never seen. A hungry, lonely machine. 

Atomised rather than infinite. You are not your own. 

He asks you to come home. A place you've never known. If you keep squatting, you can keep believing in the transience of torture. The hope that next, soon, eventually you will be free. Outrun systemic exploitation. Recoup thefted minutes, hours, days, and live in the fullness of the Trinity. Shed your shackled shape and flow like water down the stream, hang like mist over the mountains, drip sweet on blooming flower petals. Worn down by prison, you turn towards shelter. 

Shelter is his smile, lips dry and cracked. His shoulders broad and tufted. His dinky apartment, with the chest of drawers where your boxers and socks mingle, errant red hairs sticking to your packer. His family dinners on a Sunday night, mingling brothers and sisters by blood and by water, mother and father, lined faces fond. In such company, the tragedy of being bound by a body is not so sharp. 

And so the scabs on your feet soften. You begin to put down roots of your own, in soil fertile with tears and deciduous dreams. You grow shaped by acid rain, contorted by compromise, battered and boughed by the weight of obligation. 

Your soul shrinks into the palm of your hand. A seed you may plant one day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did this make you feel anything? Let me know in your comment. :)


End file.
